


May Your Days Be Merry And Bright

by sonicsora



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Christmas, Claustrophobia, Gen, Gun Violence, Horror, Hurt Peter, Kidnapping, May Parker (Spider-Man) & Tony Stark Coparenting Peter Parker, Panic Attacks, Peter Parker Whump, Peter hunted as prey, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Psychological Horror, Psychological Torture, Serious Injuries, Snow, Strangulation, Survival, The most dangerous game trope, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Trapped
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-18 17:24:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21581269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonicsora/pseuds/sonicsora
Summary: Peter thought he had a handle on being Spiderman. With Mr. Stark's help, he's been able to stay on top of patrolling, not break curfew May set, actuallykeepdoing good for New York where he can.He didn't realize he caught the attention and ire of a few of New York's local criminals until he wakes up under the floorboards of a house.
Relationships: May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 24
Kudos: 32





	1. I'm dreaming of a white christmas, just like the ones I used to know

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to a fic inspired by my loathing for christmas music.
> 
> also enjoy the incredibly obscure and weird villains I picked for this. Cause I can't just half-ass things. The villains will get a full introduction in the second chapter, for now its me being a dick to Peter.

A soft groan escapes the teenager as he squeezes his eyes more firmly shut. The muffled sound of christmas music is strange, but the inclination to sleep is stronger than his curiosity. Peter tries to twist where he’s lying to turn over onto his side, only to bump his elbow against something wooden over his head. He grunts at the impact. 

Peter blinks blearily as he looks around. The darkness around him is only cut through by thin beams of lights trickling down over him between the floorboards he’s under. The realization of where exactly he is snaps the teenager awake immediately. 

A surge of panic rolls through Peter as he’s scrabbles to push up at the wood. He digs his fingertips and nails into the wood with a panicky sound. “No, nono-“ He breathes out in a near fearful whine. He can’t seem to get his hands under the planks of wood to push them upwards no matter what he does. 

The floorboards further from him creak with the weight of someone walking over them. The sound startles the teenager before he realizes this person could help him. Peter pounds at the wood a little desperately. “Please!” He’s struggling to keep his breathing remotely under control, “I’m trapped under here!” 

The footsteps slow nearby, but there is no answer. Peter peers up through the slats between the floorboards. He can see an almost normal looking living room above, decorated heavily for christmas. The couch has a colorful holiday themed throw blanket laid over the back of it. Other chairs are gathered close to the couch signifying there are guests to come over. The coffee table between the couch and clustered chairs is laden with snacks on a tray, with several mugs. Even if he can’t directly see it, the blinking of lights from a christmas tree are hard to miss. It feels like he’s peering into some weird holiday themed commercial. 

He shivers where he’s laying just listening as the song ends overhead. The silence that hangs in the air afterwards is almost too much. 

“Please-“ He calls out, trying to shout, but his voice shakes more than he’d like it to. “Please!” 

The footsteps pick up again, in the direction of where the music had been coming from. Peter pounds harder at the wood. “Help!” How can they not hear him? Is this person ignoring him? 

The music simply is turned up louder. The opening of the song plays overhead before a woman’s voice fills the air, ‘sultry’ and playful.

“ _Santa baby, slip a sable under the tree for me-_ “ The footsteps carry on, and Peter can see an old balding man through the slats. He’s wearing a brightly colored christmas sweater, slacks paired with loafers, and at best spares the floorboards a passing glance. Peter can’t make out his face from this angle, but he picks out glasses glinting in the light. 

The man simply walks away leaving Peter alone under the floor. The teenager chews at his bottom lip for a moment just waiting and hoping the man will come back. 

He doesn’t. 

Peter tries to get leverage to kick upwards, at best slamming the toes of his sneakers against the floorboard as he squirms against the dirt under him. 

“ _Been an awful good girl_ -”

He’s trying to keep his breathing even, but can’t- not when he can’t seem to get out of this dark cramped space. He squeezes his eyes shut, shivering where he’s lying. “B-breathe, breathe-“ He chokes out, trying to calm himself. 

“ _Santa baby, and hurry down the chimney tonight,_ ” The voice croons overhead, “ _Santa baby, a '54 convertible too convertible too, light blue._ ”

“Guh.” Peter sniffles a little, he tries kicking again, and again, mostly just slamming his feet against the boards uselessly. Nothing seems to be moving the floorboards overhead. Peter doesn’t understand _why_ , normally he’d be able to kick through the boards without a lot of effort, yet everything he’s doing is doing nothing. 

“ _I'll wait up for you, dear,_ ” The radio is still playing overhead still, the only real sounds beyond the creak of the house settling over the top of him and the scuffs of his sneakers colliding with wood. “ _Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight-_ ” 

He finally goes limp, his breathing has become too erratic at this point and he can’t quite calm down. He has to squeeze his eyes shut again trying to catch onto anything but the panic. Breathy singing and distant sound of footsteps on the wooden floors are what he focuses on immediately. The desperation to get help only makes it harder to tune out. The lights on the tree inside of the house start to blink in a different random pattern. The rapidly changing colors makes Peter grimace. 

He can feel a panic attack on the horizon and Peter knows that isn’t going to help. Thrashing around isn’t going to get him out of this. At best he’ll end up hurting himself. His senses are already on overdrive from being in such an enclosed space. 

Peter sucks in several deep breaths, covering his face with his hands to try and dull everything around him. He counts with each breath, one to ten. He keeps his face covered until his breathing evens itself. 

He loses track of time as he keeps his hands over his face and ears. All Peter can really hear is his own heart beat in his ears and his choppy breathing. 

“It’s okay, its okay, I’m- I’m gonna get out.” He whispers to himself, his own voice feels too loud in his head. “I’ll figure this out.” He finds some semblance of peace repeating it over and over again to himself. He reminds himself, Mr. Stark likely noticed he’s gone. If not Aunt May was probably _freaking_ out right now. They’d be looking for him. 

The sound of a car growing nearer startles the teenager from his reprieve, he tries to crane his head in the direction he can hear the car approaching from. He chews nervously at his bottom lip as he focuses on the car. He can tell it’s getting closer to the house fairly quickly. Peter can’t tell how far exactly. He has no idea where anything really is. 

A door opens overhead, Peter’s gaze flicks back up to peer through the opening between the floorboards. He can see the man from earlier standing at what Peter is guessing is the front door. He watches as the man steps out of sight after a moment of lingering the open doorway, closing the door behind himself. The teenager stares at the closed door, forcing himself to suck in a quiet breath. He turns his gaze to his side, feeling his heart clench in his chest at the darkness of the space between the floor and dirt under the house. Only slivers of light creep through the slats between the floorboards. 

Peter can hear the car pull up, he listens intently as car doors open. Feet hit the ground, crunching through the snow as voices call out to one another. Peter can’t completely pick out how many people are walking around in the snow together. Car door slam and a horn beeps. 

It feels odd to hear greetings exchanged so casually when he’s stuck like this. Peter can feel the cold air biting at his exposed arms where his short sleeves end. He crosses his arms more tightly over himself trying to just listen. With the panicky adrenaline dropping the cold actually starts to seep in. 

“Phineas! How are you?”

“Fine, fine, much better now that you’re here, Kateri.” 

“Phineas! Hey you balding brainiac!” 

“It’s a pleasure to finally see you in pants, Lornia.” 

“Let’s keep things civil you two.” 

“Well civil as we can be, we have some mayhem to wrought don’t we?”

There is some laughter that lingers as the group walk together back in the direction of the house. The front door slams and Peter finds his gaze snapped back upwards trying to see if he can pick out anyone familiar. The old man holds the door open for everyone. Peter doesn’t recognize anyone gathered at all, not that his vantage point gives him the best view of any of them. 

“Is he awake?” The question startles Peter, he looks to the woman who asks the question. Her height means he can’t really make out her face, just the black swath hair that hangs loosely around her shoulders. She brushes a hand over her equally tacky snowflake themed christmas sweater over her jeans and boots.

“He’s been crying under the boards for a good few minutes.” The old man answers as he adjusts his glasses. “Guess he’s calmed down.” He clicks his heels firmly against the floorboards. Peter jolts, torn between actively fleeing if possible or waiting to hear what is being said. Why did they even bring him here?

“Aw, we missed the opening act!” The other woman huffs in a pouty tone flipping her strawberry blonde hair out of her eyes. She dramatically flops back on the nearest piece of furniture sending bits of white fur flying off of her coat and boots. 

“He’ll be crying again soon enough.” The tallest of the group surmises casually. The brown haired man in question tucks his hands in his jeans pockets for the moment. He shrugs off his jacket revealing his own equally tacky looking christmas sweater. “Shall I fish him out Phineas?” 

“Please, we do have a party to start.” 

“Mayyyheeemmmm.” The strawberry blonde sing-songs giddily. The other woman gives an indulgent laugh at the singing. “Oh, Lornia.” 

The floor boards are pried up, hands reach down to grab at the teenager roughly. Peter finds himself jolting against the rough hands latching onto the fabric of his t-shirt, hauling him upwards by the fabric. He’s pulled into the house fully now and set on his feet. He stares at the four adults gathered in stunned disbelief. They all look varying degrees of _amused_ to mildly interested. 

Peter is torn between _relief_ at being in the open air or purely apprehensive over the situation. Silence hangs over the group for the moment beyond the radio playing another Christmas song. 

“ _Silver bells, silver bells, it's Christmas time in the city-”_

He doesn’t realize how weak he is from his panic until he tries to take a step forward and he wobbles. The brown haired man gives an annoyed sound and shoves Peter into a waiting arm chair. Peter falls back into it with a surprised noise. His legs are completely uncooperative at the moment so he isn’t getting up just yet.

Peter twists in the arm chair to look at the man. He looks so… normal. All of them do. They all are wearing the tacky christmas sweaters his aunt would buy for Christmas parties at her job. 

“Why-?” Pops out of his mouth before he can contain it, “Why are you doing this?” 

The three younger people look to the balding old man, who simply smiles. His smile could almost be grandfatherly if not for the edge of a threat laying beneath it. “Well, Spiderman. That’s the question of the hour isn’t it?” 

If he wasn’t already cold before, the fact they know would send a chill through the teenager. They know he’s Spiderman, _fuck_. “I- you, I’m not-” Denial comes tumbling out of him easily, his voice raising an octave or two. 

The strawberry blonde woman laughs immediately, her head tipping back, her shoulder length hair tumbling back. “Gosh, he is cuuute! What happened to all the snark?” She clasps her hands together leaning forward now. Her coat and furry boots are still shedding with each movement. 

“Waking up under a floor would take away anyone’s good humor.” The black haired woman chuckles in turn, blue eyes taking in Peter’s reaction. “We know who you are, Peter.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “You know S.H.I.E.L.D has some terrible security on their files. It has a lot of interesting pertinent information on you.” 

“It’d be funny if it wasn’t straight up depressing.” The brown haired man offers with a shrug as he walks to stop by the chair Peter’s seated in. He drapes an arm over the top, smirking when Peter leans away from him. “But, we’re cutting into Phineas’ show. It’s all on you, boss.” 

Phineas chuckles lowly, but doesn’t seem perturbed by the color commentary. “Thank you, Abner. I’d love to explain, but how about over hot chocolate?” All Peter can do is stare at the group in open confusion. They were going to do the typical villain thing and spill their plans but… now they weren’t? 

The dark haired woman laughs a little. An actual smile curling across her lips. “Oh, please, I’d love some.” 

“A little madness never begets a good cup of cocoa.” Croons the blonde woman in agreement, she kicks her legs out sending further fur flying everywhere. The tallest man shoots her a dirty look, brushing some off of himself. Peter just stares down at the white fur that’s landed on his jeans and sneakers. 

He quickly realizes these aren’t even his own clothes. Everything is a size too big and covered in strange stains. His shirt has a nearly incomprehensible band logo on the front. His hands drop into his lap as he tries to process what exactly is going on. They kidnapped him at some point, but Peter is drawing a blank. Was he going to school? Did he go on patrol? Was he on his way to see Mr. Stark? How long has he been gone? He strains to get some kind of answer but it just makes his head hurt. He grimaces, rubbing at his face with a hand. 

He’s snapped back into the moment as a mug is shoved into his hands. He fumbles with the mug before managing to keep a grip on it without dropping it. He realizes in the moment he’s not sticking to the surface. That at least explains why he couldn’t kick through the floorboards. 

“Gosh, you really drugged the heck outta him, Phineas.” The blonde woman muses, finally drawing Peter to look at the adults gathered around him. All of them have their own drinks at this point. They’re all so relaxed and unconcerned with him beyond Abner still leaning against the chair Peter is in. “Think he’ll be able to handle what we have planned?” 

“If he can’t, it’ll make the rest of the week _much_ more of a vacation.” Chuckles Abner lowly. “You said you wanted to see this state up close, Lor.” 

“Yeaaaah, but still!” She waves her free hand around erratically. “I wanna torment Spiidermaaaan.” Her squirming around on the couch earns some indulgent laughter from the rest of the group. Peter feels his stomach lurch at the casualness of it. They’re talking about possibly torturing him and it’s so… easy for them, so laughable. 

Peter opens and closes his mouth, frustration bubbling up the surface. “What the hell is going on!?” His grip tightens on the mug, half ready to just throw it at this point. 

The group fall silent at that, sharing looks amongst themselves as the man croons on the radio. 

“ _City sidewalks, busy sidewalks (Silver bells), dressed in holiday style (Silver bells)._ ”

Fingers tighten around the collar of his shirt as Abner drags him upwards into the back of the chair all but choking the teenager. 

“A little manners wouldn’t hurt, kid.” He laughs darkly, pulling harder where the mug tumbles out of Peter’s grasp and hits the floor with a crash. His hands fly up to struggle against Abner’s grasp, clawing at the man’s gloved hands desperately. 

“He couldn’t even behave, how disappointing.” Phineas tsks quietly as Peter struggles to breath. 

“No manners in this generation.” The blonde woman laughs as Peter’s vision grows spotty and gloved hands tighten around his throat. Peter thrashes against it, but finds himself struggling to suck in air. His head grows heavy and he finds himself losing sense of where he is. 

“ _Meeting smile after smile (Hear them ring), very soon it will be Christmas day._ ” Croons the radio as laughter echoes around him.


	2. A beautiful sight, we're happy tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some explanations are given, but not much. Things can never be easy for Peter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tweaked the tags so ya'll know this is in fact mildly sappy in the background outside of the horror unfolding before Peter. I.E. Tony and May co-parent Peter, if not have a chill relationship. 
> 
> I also had to add general marvel tag cause, whoops, I dug into the comics for villains. Either way, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter. I had a lot of fun writing it! Especially picking out the christmas songs to ruin via horror.

“ _It's the best time of the year, I don't know if there'll be snow-_ ” 

He releases a low breath, licking his lips as he tries to blink further awake. The back of his mouth is dry. Peter blinks slowly trying to focus before squeezing his eyes shut against the brightness of the lights around him. His throat hurts like he’s having a hard time breathing and Peter isn’t sure why. 

Music mingles with what sounds like some kind of party from a room over. Glasses clink together, plates are shifted across what sounds a wooden tabletop, laughter cuts through the music here and there. 

“ _But have a cup of cheer, have a holly, jolly Christmas-_ ”

Peter squints against the lights as he licks his lips. He realizes after a moment he’s seated in a plush armchair and bound to it. He strains against the ropes and chains holding him in place. He leans forward with a soft grunt, sucking in short sharp breaths. The pain around his throat becomes more obvious as he tries to take in deeper breaths. The memories from earlier trickle back to him making the teenager go stiff where he’s seated. “Oh, oh no.” He rasps quietly. 

“ _And when you walk down the street, say hello to friends you know, and everyone you meet._ ”

“Ohohooo, he’s awake!” A woman’s syrupy voice sing songs from behind him. Peter goes stiff in his chair, he twists in the chair to try and peer over it to see who it is. The height of the armchair means he can’t see much of anything. 

“ _Oh, ho the mistletoe, hung where you can see-_ ”

“Finally.” A man’s voice calls out, “Drag him in here.” 

“Aw, c’mon, I gotta save my strength.” Peter can practically hear the pout in the woman’s voice. He strains against the chains further, wishing desperately his strength would return. Peter remembers drugs being mentioned and all he can do is wonder what exactly was put into him. 

The man groans in annoyance, he can hear boots against the wooden floorboards before he comes to a stop behind the armchair. Peter goes stiff, feeling his stomach flip. The brown-haired man leans over the top of the chair smirking at Peter. “Nice of you to join us, sleeping beauty.” 

Peter leans away as much as he can, but he doesn’t have the time to say anything as the chair is hefted up and dragged from the living room towards an open doorway. He can hear the shuffle of the other person moving out of the way as he’s brought into what he realizes is a kitchen. The chair is turned to face what Peter realizes is a dining table. The older balding man is seated at the head of the table with a plate bursting full of food. Seated next to him is the tall dark-haired woman whose picking over her meal. 

The table is laid out with so much food. It is a variety of take out freshly unloaded from its packaging on plates, utensils are settled out and everyone else seated is eating. Peter swallows uncertainly as hunger suddenly rolling over him. When did he last eat-? How long had he been here?

“ _Somebody waits for you, kiss her once for me-”_

The strawberry blonde giggles nearby startling Peter from staring at the food. He realizes she’s standing next to him just smirking at him. “Wakey wakey, spider boy.” She leans over to press a kiss against his cheek, all Peter can do is recoil away from the attention. The woman just laughs at him as she drifts back to her own empty seat at the table. The back of his armchair is slapped roughly by the brown-haired man as he moves to his own seat.

“ _Have a holly, jolly Christmas, and in case you didn't hear-_ ”

“Are you feeling more relaxed, Mr. Parker?” The balding man questions with a quirk of his brow. “I’d rather not lose any more time to you misbehaving.” 

Something snarky sits in the back of his throat, Peter is more than ready to lob it at the group. Peter catches himself, reminding himself that he _needed_ information. He could get snarky once he actually knew what was going on. He swallows it back, forcing himself to nod slowly. 

“Excellent, then, let us make some introductions.” The old man’s lips quirks upwards, “If you can be quiet, I’m sure we can get some food for you.” 

Peter clicks his teeth together, narrowing his eyes and sinking back into his seat. His stomach growls making the teenager startle and the adults around him laugh. Peter feels himself turning red as he spares his stomach a glare. 

“We can’t let him starve.” The dark-haired woman chuckled lowly. She motions casually at the man at the head of the table. “Please, go ahead.” 

The balding old man sits up a little, brushing his knuckles against the front of his shirt. “I’m Phineas Mason, we’ve never met until now Mr. Parker, beyond I see you walking by my shop on your way home from school.” That piece of information sends a chill down the teenager's spine. 

The man winds his fork in what Peter realizes is chow mein. He waggles the fork back in Peter’s direction, making small pieces of vegetables and loose noodles tumble back onto the plate. “I prefer going by Tinkerer on the job.” 

“It’s quite the name, it covers everything perfectly.” The dark-haired woman agrees, cracking open a fortune cookie. Phineas shoots a smile back at the forty-year-old woman. “Now, my dear, I feel it’s your turn.” 

The woman unrolls the fortune casually, not even looking up at Peter as she speaks. “I am Kateri Deseronto, we’ve also never met. I only know you through your antics on the news and of course, your file from S.H.I.E.L.D. It was _quite_ the read. Nick Fury’s paranoia has done you no favors, Peter. He’s laid out so much information about you.” Her gaze finally settles on his face. “Peter Parker, age sixteen, lives in Queens with his Aunt. Obtained his powers in some kind of accident. Now you’re Tony Stark’s pet project.” 

“I’m not his-” Peter starts before being shushed by Phineas. “What did I say, Mr. Parker-?” The teenager just glares at the man but keeps his mouth shut. Antagonizing these people wouldn’t help. He needed to keep reminding himself of this. One of these people had choked him out for speaking out.

“Good choice.” The younger man at the table states easily as he picks up a slice of half-eaten pizza from his place. “Please, Kateri, continue.” 

The woman unrolls her fortune reading it vaguely as she speaks, “I suppose if we’re also giving our alter egos, I’m Cold Heart.”

“Which is a stupendous, fantabulous sort of name if I can say so.” The strawberry blonde throws out, wiggling in her seat. “Ugh, you thought of the best name!” Kateri laughs at the compliment, “Lorina!” 

“It's true!” 

Phineas chortles brightly at the exchange, “As you can see this is Lorina. She’s a sunspot.” The blonde woman perks up in her seat, flipping her hair out of her face. 

“I’m Lorina Dodson, as stated.” She winks back in Peter’s direction. She jabs her fork into some orange chicken on her plate. “I only know you’ve gotten in my people’s way more than once, you’re a real pain in the butt. Pain upon pain, upon pain.” She pops the chicken into her mouth chewing as she speaks. “Do you know how hard it is to find the right goons for mayhem!?” 

Peter opens and closes his mouth, more confused than anything else. He’s trying to place who he’s fought, and just comes up with relatively faceless thugs in costume or regular looking people attempting to commit fairly low-level crimes. 

He swallows, trying to keep his tone ‘polite’. “...Were they in costume-?” He flicks his gaze to Phineas, but the man seems to be letting the question go by since Peter is asking something nicely. The almost grandfatherly look the man gives him makes Peter want to slide out of the armchair he’s chained to. 

It’s just a reminder that these people are crazy and he really needs to get out of here. 

“Yes!” Lornia huffs loudly back jabbing her fork back in Peter’s direction. “They were themed!” 

Peter just nods a little numbly. “O...okay.” He’s trying to pick out if anyone was themed but is drawing a blank. Lorina groans a little at his response, “I’m White Rabbit and you don’t even know! Do you know about my crimes!?” Peter shakes his head a little awkwardly in a wordless ‘no’. 

The brown-haired man chuckles lowly at the reaction around the pizza slice in his mouth. Lornia shoots him a pouty glower, which makes the man choke with laughter around his food. There is some arguing that follows.

Peter’s gaze drops to the tabletop as the arguing continues. The sixteen-year-old has to wonder just what is going on. He's dealt with some weird stuff since defeating The Vulture, but this is... new. New and horrifying in a way that leaves him feeling almost numb. 

“Enough, enough! We’re veering wildly off-topic.” Phineas cuts in finally, drawing Peter’s attention back to the rest of the group. The balding old man frowns disapprovingly at Lornia and the brown-haired man. “Abner-” 

“It’s funny.” The man answers with a snort, he looks back to Peter, “I’m Abner Jenkins. The Beetle. I’ll spare you the dramatics, that’s more Lorina’s forte. You’ve gotten in all of our ways Stark Jr.” 

“I’d protest, but it’s true.” The strawberry blonde sighs with a slow shrug. She jabs at her orange chicken before popping it into her mouth. Lorina chews loudly as she speaks. “But s’yeah, you’re kinda in our way!” 

“We’ve discussed quite a few things about you, Mr. Parker.” Phineas easily picks up the thread of conversation Abner and Lornia have laid out, “We talked about simply killing you on the way here, but we thought of something more interesting.” 

Peter just stares at the old man for a moment, “Interesting…?” He really didn’t like the implications here. 

“We thought we’d give you an experience. Something to grow on. Would you take that chance?” 

Peter opens and closes his mouth trying to formulate some kind of answer to the vague question. Whatever experience they have in mind already sounds terrible. His brows scrunch together as he manages a very eloquent, “Huh?” 

His confusion earns some giggling from the strawberry blonde woman as she leans over to elbow Kateri. “ _Teenagers_.” The two women share a laugh amongst themselves. 

“What I’m saying Mr. Parker,” Continues Phineas as if he wasn’t interrupted, “Show us you’re more than just Stark’s shadow. Be your own hero.” 

“I _am_ my own hero, if I’ve been a ‘pain’ that means I’ve beaten you before-” Peter starts with some growing agitation. Abner reaches across the table and flicks Peter across the cheek, startling the teenager into silence. He rears back in his seat nearly making the armchair topple over. 

“Respect your elders, brat,” Abner answers dryly back. “Or do you not want to eat?” 

The reminder makes Peter close his mouth, glaring at the older man with as much venom as he can muster. The look just earns tittering. 

Phineas wipes his mouth with a napkin before he speaks again, “We’re going to release you, and you can expect my companions and I to come after you. This is your own learning experience, if you survive, _well_ I can arrange a flight back to New York for you. If not, I suppose I’ll be shipping you back in a different circumstance.” The old man waves a hand dismissively as if talking about the snowfall instead of sending Peter back in a coffin to New York. 

Peter’s hands tighten against his knees, trying to process the information. Death threats weren't exactly new, but, the fact they weren't in New York was worthy of worrying about. They grabbed him and flew him out of state. “...We’re not in New York?” 

“Not even remotely,” Abner answers with a flash of a smirk, balancing his palm against his cheek as his elbow settles against the tabletop. “No home field advantage for anyone here. It seems fair, doesn’t it?” 

“We’re a sporting sort, Mr. Parker,” Phineas states as he pushes his seat back away from the table to grab an empty plate and load it with food. Peter chews a little at his bottom lip as he watches the older man dole out food. “Well, sporting enough. We can’t let the game go ruined by you acting out.” 

“Realllly you were a little mouthy, but we can’t let you go too hungry. You need that energy for what’s happening next.” Lornia supplies as she chews her next bite of food, grinning around it. Abner rolls his eyes at the display, throwing a napkin at the woman. It hits her shoulder sending fur fluttering around the table. Kateri sighs at that, heavily brushing fur off of her sweater and jeans. “Lor, please take off your jacket the silly thing is shedding everywhere.” 

Lornia grumps but compiles sliding out of her jacket placing it on the back of her chair without much complaining. “Only for you Kateri.” 

Peter’s attention is easily drawn back to Phineas as the man brings the plate over to set it down in front of the teenager. A child’s plastic fork is set next to the plate as well by Abner. Peter is a little insulted, but isn’t surprised they’re ready for him trying to stab any of them out of desperation. Phineas walks around the back of the armchair to fiddle with the chains. The restraints lessen enough Peter can reach out to grab the red and gold plastic fork, pausing as he registers its an Ironman themed fork. 

Kateri smiles from her side of the table, clasping her hands together and resting her chin against her knuckles. “Eat up, Mr. Parker, you never know if this will be your last meal.”

Peter stares back at her, before stabbing the fork into the food. He tries to restrain himself to eat calmly. He didn't want to give them the satisfaction of seeing just how hungry he actually is. His attempt at restraint is tested by the first bite of food, as it reminds his body just _how_ hungry it is. He groans around the bite of orange chicken, flushing at the laughter it earns. He eats in silence just trying to ignore the group staring at him with such easy mirth. 

One of them gets up from the table starting to gather dishes, Peter tracks the movement somewhat from the corner of his eye even if his focus is on the plate in front of him. He needs to make this count. 

He’s going to get home even if these people don’t want him to.


	3. Simply having a wonderful Christmas time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those curious about the songs used so far-
> 
> +Santa Baby - Eartha Kitt  
> +Silver Bells - Bing Crosby  
> +A Holly Jolly Christmas - Burl Ives  
> +A Wonderful Christmas time - Paul Mc Cartney 
> 
> So listen and suffer along! Thanks to my friends who suggested two of the songs since I was pretty stumped on what to use. Again, this fic 1000% started cause Christmas music drives me absolutely nuts. ~~ah the power of working retail!~~
> 
> Other songs that were considered for your listening pleasure: 
> 
> +Winter Wonderland - Bing Crosby  
> +Jingle Bell Rock - Bobby Helms  
> +The Christmas Waltz - Frank Sinatra

Peter isn’t wholly sure what to expect out of any of this. He maybe expects them to shove him outside and tell him to start running. He maybe expects a fight to break out in the house itself. 

The four adults finish eating, clean the tabletop of dishes and take away containers. The conversation is dreadfully casual, relaxed, discussion of holiday plans are peppered amongst everything else. They continue to be so relaxed after declaring they’re going to more or less _kill_ him. 

Peter chews absently at the end of the fork he’s still holding onto, anxiety building up in his chest as he watches the group interact amongst themselves. His gaze drifts between the four adults, wanting some idea of anything he could use against them. 

Phineas moves any used dishes towards the sink, rinsing them clear before loading them into a dishwasher next to the fridge. He steps back from loading the machine to flex his hand, stretching his fingers as if fighting against some kind of cramp. Phineas is old, so the man possibly having arthritis isn’t too out there. Even if Peter loathes using that against him if he has to. The entire line of thought just leaves the teenager feeling slimy. 

“Sometimes I think we should have called ole Kravey.” The blonde woman chuckles lowly as she exits the kitchen, her arm looped with Kateri’s. The taller woman wobbles just slightly at Lornia leaning into her before correcting it. Even then she’s favoring one side to some extent. 

“Calling Kraven means we would be shipping a body home, Lorina, that’s unsportsmanlike.” Giggling follows from Lorina herself as the two disappear into the living room together. He lets his gaze drop back to the table as he thinks. He can hear Phineas exiting the kitchen after the two women, their conversation growing a little louder. The name Kraven comes out another time or two. 

Peter grimaces a little, filing the name away for later. When he got out of here, he needed to see if Mr. Stark had ever heard of this Kraven person. Peter kind of was clueless about villains apparently, even if they weren’t unaware of him. He stuck to his neighborhood a bit too closely. 

“Have a good meal, Parker?” 

“Um.” Peter looks away from the tabletop in Abner’s direction. 

Only Abner lingers in the kitchen at this point, leaned back against a nearby wall with his arms crossed over his chest. “Well?” 

“Yes?” He doesn’t intend for it to come out as a question, but it does. That much earns a dry kind of laugh from Abner as he rises from his lean and dusts his hands off on his jeans. “So unsure of yourself, kid.” 

“I think I’m allowed, given you guys kidnapped me!” He defends a little weakly back, scrunching up his nose as he twists awkwardly in his chair to scowl at the older man. Abner just shakes his head slowly, even amongst his amusement he seems like a disappointed teacher talking to a student not living up to expectations. 

The brown haired man drifts over to where Peter is seated, resting his hand against the top of the chair. The man’s hands being so close just makes Peter lean away.

Peter has to wonder if any of these people understand personal space. 

“You might want to get a little more sure of things, Peter. It’ll help you survive.” 

Peter clicks his teeth together in a quiet kind of frustration. “I still don’t understand why you’re doing any of this!” 

“You’re listening needs work too.” Abner reaches down to flick Peter’s earlobe making the teenager flinch back in surprise. He should have expected it at this point. Abner just chuckles lowly again, patting the top of the sixteen-year old’s head, mussing his hair in the process. Peter hunches down trying to avoid being touched anymore. 

Abner pulls back after a moment as the music from the living room grows louder. “C’mon, I think we’re needed by the rest of the party.” Abner grins down at Peter, “Wouldn’t want to keep them waiting, now would we?” 

“ _The moon is right, the spirit's up-_ ” 

Peter hunches more deeply against the chair as its hefted up again, being carried back in the direction of the living room. The thought of going back just makes his heart rate skyrocket. His hands clutch a little desperately at the arms of the chair as Abner carries him back. 

After this, these crazy people are going to start their plans. He technically knows what they’re doing, but it doesn’t make it any less surreal to think about. 

“ _We're here tonight, and that's enough-_ ” 

He’s never going to want to listen to christmas music again when he gets home. A near hysterical kind of laugh nearly pops out of him at how disappointed May will be over it. 

Uncle Ben used to love listening to Christmas music. He’d start playing every Christmas song he could find exactly on December 1st. Ben would spend his down time baking, spend the time making their apartment smell like cookies all month long. He’d play certain songs on repeat, often enough May would yell at him from across the apartment to change a song or she would strangle him. Ben would just laugh, head tipped back as mirth brightened his features. 

Even without Ben, they still do it, still listen to all his favorite songs. They still try to bake, even if May burns more things than she means to. 

“ _Simply having a wonderful Christmas time, Simply having a wonderful Christmas time-_ ” 

Thinking about Uncle Ben, about Aunt May just makes his breath shake in his chest. He squeezes his eyes shut tightly against the panic and worry rolling over him. Worry for himself, worry for May. He can’t let himself get scared, not right now. 

Is he ever going to see May again? Will May be okay? Does she know he’s gone? Has she called Tony after looking for him? She must be freaking out right now. 

Will he get to have another Christmas with her?

“ _The party's on, the feelin's here-_ ”

He can’t slow his thoughts entirely and the panic must show on his face given the laughter it elicits from Lornia when she sees him. Peter swallows heavily, forcing himself to open his eyes and look at them. Abner sets the chair down across from the gathered group seated on the couch. Only a coffee table really divides them from Peter himself. Kateri has a mug in hand, sipping her drink idly as Abner walks around the chair to settle down in an open spot on the couch. 

“ _Aw_ , finally getting scared little spider?” The strawberry blonde woman coos mockingly with a flash of teeth in her smile.

“Now, now, he’s probably just realizing the stakes.” Phineas offers with a low chuckle of his own. “Feeling ready, Peter?” 

Peter licks his lips a little nervously, unsure what to do for a moment. Does he really have an option here?

“Yes.” 

He’s still expecting them to come at him, to attack him outright, instead the group simply share looks. Abner starts to rise, but is waved to stay seated by Kateri. He offers her a fond smile and reclines further back into the couch, draping his arm along the back of the couch itself.

Kateri settles her drink on the coffee table, rising from her spot on the couch to scoot by her fellow criminals. She walks by Peter completely. The teenager blinks in confusion, awkwardly trying to twist in the chair and peer at her. He can hear her moving around, prying up something wooden, but he can’t see her. He grits his teeth a little, sinking back into the chair when he can’t get a bead on her.

The dark haired woman walks back towards his chair, he can hear her boots against the hardwood floor. “I hope you’re ready, dear.” He hears the chains being undone before he feels them go slack. The metal hits the floor with an audible clank. The ropes are cut from the way they quickly fall away. Peter stares at them confused before he hesitantly pushes up to stand on his own feet. Now that he’s standing, he can tell just how much Kateri towers over him. 

His gaze snaps towards the front door, ready to bolt until a hand grabs at his arm. Fingers dig into exposed skin roughly. Kateri yanked him back, hard enough he’s thrown off balance completely. She uses her strength to haul him back roughly, not giving the teenager much time to adjust or regain his footing. 

Kateri shoves him backwards with all of her strength. Peter realizes just a little too late he’s being shoved back under the floorboards. He collides with the side of the open part of the floor instead of falling through immediately. The collision stings, but his need to get away is stronger. 

“No!” He yelps, scrambling to try and stop it. Kateri gives a frustrated snort, kicking him hard in the chest to wind him. The kick does its job as Peter sputters and struggles to take in a deep enough breath. 

“Do go peacefully into the night, _dear_.” She advises a little cooly, she’s faster than he expects her to be as she shoves him through the hole in the floor into the dirt below. The way he lands makes the teenager groan. He has definitely landed on some loose rocks that bite into his back painfully. 

The floorboards are quickly put back into place, as well as the armchair he had been chained to being placed over the top of the wooden boards. Peter takes a moment to catch his breath, closing his eyes again. 

“We better get suited up then, wouldn’t want to be unprepared.” Kateri muses casually as she walks away from where Peter is laying under the floorboards. He can hear all of them rising overhead, walking around so calmly to head into other rooms in the house. He can hear doors snap shut and conversation fade off. 

All he can hear after a moment is the music overhead as the song changes. Another cheery christmas song starts to play. Another song Peter is going to mark off as ruined forever when he’s not in immediate danger. 

He twists against the dirt floor under him, forcing himself to lay on his belly, pulling himself forward. Light creeps through the slats overhead offering him something to see by. It isn’t much, but he’ll take it. 

Peter crawls as much as he can, though it ends up being more dragging his body through the dirt. The oversized clothes he’s been put into catch on loose branches, bits of old wood and debris under the house. He has to jerk the fabric free every time, but he keeps moving forward. 

Maybe, just maybe he can get a head start. 

The thought alone propels Peter forward through the dirt. He grits his teeth yanking hard against something he’s snagged on. It feels like a plant, but he isn’t entirely sure. “C’mon, c’mon-” He swats at it, cutting his palm somewhat in the process but it works. He’s free to keep moving through the dirt. 

Peter knows he’s on the right track when he feels cold but _fresh_ air nip at his exposed skin. He scrambles to crawl faster in that direction. When he can breath in fresh air, lots of it, he knows he’s headed in the right direction.

He pushes forward from under the house, only to find himself crawling through a thick snowbank that has settled around the building. A surprised sound escapes from Peter as he flounders against the shock of the cold and his own need to get back onto his feet. His back clips against the edge of the underside of the house in his scramble to get up. He’s soaked through the front of his clothes, but he doesn’t care. He’s managed to get to his feet and pushes forward away from the house. The house behind him is lit up cheerily with blinking lights and the curtains are left open, which has more light spilling out across the snow around him. 

Peter eventually stumbles to an uncertain stop as he tries to adjust to the darkness as he gets further away from the house. 

He looks around, just flummoxed at how _dark_ everything is. Lights glitter in the distance, but his surroundings are so dark it takes him a moment for his eyes to adjust to the limited light outside. The moon is half obscured by the clouds, but the stars are bright. Any other time he might want to gaze at the sky for being so clear. 

Dry dead grass and loose gritty sand are half-buried under heavy snow banks that blankets the landscape. He can barely make out the buildings in the distance from where he’s standing. Without the houses backlight behind him, he’s having a hard time gauging where anything really is. 

“Okay, this, not great.” He mutters lowly to himself before finally picking a direction to take off. This is one of those times he wishes his powers included night vision or something. Strength, agility and sticking to surfaces was not great for whatever this situation is. 

His bare feet slide across the snow and ice, leaving him unbalanced. Each step has the chance of him toppling over, but he has to keep moving. Peter can’t break into a full run like he wants to, but he’s getting as close as he can to it. 

The cold is just soaking into him, making him shiver and shake as he runs. He’s hopeful a full run will get him to warm up at least a little. It’s doubtful with the way his wet clothes cling to skin and how the cold bites into his bare feet. He can’t stop his teeth from clicking together in a full chatter. 

He would give anything for his suit, for Karen, for Tony to come in for a rescue. 

He’s his own person, his own hero even, but this is so, so, _so_ over his head. 

Peter doesn’t realize he’s bleeding until he’s forced to stop by a particularly slippery slide. He hits the ground hard enough and has to lay there for a second. He groans as he examines himself. His palm is definitely bleeding, his fingertips are cut up, and when he looks at his feet, they’ve caught on something at some point and he hadn’t noticed. The blood smeared across the bottom is a strong indicator he needs to try to be aware of where he’s stepping. He grits his teeth trying to stop the chattering as he shivers. Now he’s soaked back to front, which isn’t helping any. 

He lays there for only a second longer before he’s back up. He’s scrambling to move. If he can get to one of those buildings in the distance, maybe he can call someone. 

Then, the lights come up. Peter yelps in surprise rearing back at the sudden flood lights bursting to life around him. He’s definitely blinded at this point by the sudden light. 

“What the fuck!?” Bursts out of his mouth as he scrambles to take off trying to stay steady, but his vision is a mess. He’s blinking back spots as he just full tilt runs. He keeps slipping but correcting himself enough to move in some direction. He’s too disoriented to know he’s moving forward or just randomly. If he ends up crashing into the house he’s going to be so angry at himself.

If not for the crunch of snow underfoot he wouldn’t have any kind of warning. He barely rears back as a blow glances off of him. His shoulder all but screams in pain as something cuts through the wet fabric of his shirt into his skin beneath it. His breath stutters in his throat as a pained sound gets caught there. The cold radiating off of the blade makes the cut feel even worse. 

“You’re a quick one, now aren’t you?” Kateri laughs lowly. Peter scrambles away, throwing himself back even if he ends up skidding across the snow uncontrollably. He nearly topples over into the snow, but sticks down to the ground the best he can. 

Kateri is chasing after him, her boots are loud in the snow that he has a bead on just where she is. That is more than enough motivation to stick to what he can of the ground to avoid falling down with her chasing him. He unsticks to slide whilst she comes in swinging again.

His vision corrects itself after a few moments, he’s finally able to see his surroundings without everything being a mess of strange shapes and dots. He’s definitely in some kind of desert, he had a feeling but the confirmation is nice. Coldheart is also charging at him, which is decidedly less nice now that he can see it. 

Peter manages just barely to leap as she comes at him. He’s faster than she is, that’s his only real advantage at the moment. The pair of swords she’s swinging at him are strange when paired with the black segmented body armor she’s wearing over a bodysuit. Her dark hair is pulled out of her face entirely, a black mask covers her eyes and nose completely. Her eyes are obscured with some kind of smooth flat goggles built into the mask. Everything is covered head to toe but her mouth, jawline, and her fingertips. 

If not for the floodlights making everything brighter than bright he could almost picture her black body armor disappearing into the darkness. The only bright spot lay in what Peter guesses were numbers once across the collar of the suit, in their place were what looked like white snowflakes etched over the top that seemingly drift down her shoulder and side of her armor.

“I think the swords kind of don’t go with what you’re aiming for here?” He throws out, trying to sound confident and cocky, like Spider-Man. It just comes out a bit awkward from how his teeth are still chattering. 

Coldheart laughs almost cheerily at that, “Really? I feel they fit perfectly.” She adjusts her grip on the hilts of her swords as she shifts positions. “What else is colder than steel?” 

“Snow probably.” Peter manages with an awkward kind of shrug as he raises his fists. He falls into a loose defensive posture, trying to be ready. His gaze settles on her swords after a moment. Actually looking at them more closely, he realizes they’re coated in ice. Ice that seems to be growing and spreading outwards into jagged icicles. The ice seems to be emerging from her hands onto her weaponry. 

Her lips quirk into a smirk at that, “You’d be very correct, Mr. Parker.” 

He really needs to learn to keep his mouth shut. Peter grimaces, but holds his ground as the forty-year-old woman charges at him. Coldheart doesn’t say a single thing as she comes within distance to swing at him. He just barely manages to avoid the first strike, feinting forward like he’s going to punch her. She’s quick to attempt to block him, focused on the blow that never comes. He uses that delay to jump up into the air and over her head. 

He twists in the air and kicks out at her head. Peter is unable to change his momentum but more than able to try and use it to make the kick count. He knows he’s landed the hit when his bare heel collides with the back of her head. The woman gasps, staggering forward at the impact. One of her swords hits the ground with a wet thump. 

Peter would feel bad for kicking someone in the head, but he’s down any other option but to fight at this point. The thought doesn’t last as he hits the ground, skidding through the snow. He rolls over onto his knees, pushing himself up onto his feet. 

He runs, taking off through the snow and dirt. Peter is hopeful, just for a moment maybe he actually knocked the woman out. 

An icicle bigger than his forearm coming down through the air near him does a fair job of proving him wrong. “Oh fuck! Seriously!?” He staggers to a stop to stare at it, whipping around to stare at the glowering woman. Another one comes into shape in her hand, and that’s all the motivation Peter needs to start running again. He’s still sliding more than running, but it’s better than being still. 

“You can’t run from a fight, Peter!” Another icicle comes down near him. 

“Watch me!” He calls back, hoping he sounds brave, opposed to outright terrified. The answer he gets is more icicles, seemingly getting bigger raining down from behind him. Coldheart is very intent on skewering him. Peter really has no idea if he’s making much progress, nothing feels closer the more he runs.

The thought of looping around and stealing the car comes to mind, but he doesn’t exactly know how to _steal_ a car. His whole job as Spider-Man was preventing that from actually happening. His thoughts are entirely derailed by gunfire going off nearby. The bullets just narrowly miss him. He staggers back, looking around desperately for the source. 

He finds it in White Rabbit strolling forward, swinging a machine gun back and forth casually. True to her name she’s dressed in a thick white bodysuit, knee-high furry boots, and rabbit ears settled atop her head. A blue tailored overcoat breaks up the white of her suit, the glitter of a gold chain hangs out of the pocket. 

“Aw, Petey-piiiieee, running away isn’t polite!” She sing-songs at him with a flutter of her lashes. “Don’t you know that’s rude?” She hefts up the gun pointing it at Peter with a grin.  


“I’m not really feeling too polite right now…” He manages awkwardly. He holds his hands up almost automatically, grimacing as she toys with the trigger. He can hear Coldheart running in their direction, her boots are crunching loudly in the thickly packed snow. It won't take very long for her to catch up at this rate.

“Now that isn’t in the holiday spirit!” White Rabbit huffs back, drawing a hand back to flip some of her strawberry blonde hair out of her face. 

“Now, White Rabbit, he could be a little _gun-shy_ about the holidays.” Coldheart offers as she walks over to join the standoff. The two women share a laugh at that, smiling at one another. The complete ease the two are in just makes Peter grit his teeth. They really think he's a joke at this point. He may be sixteen, but he isn't stupid. He knows how to handle himself.

Peter doesn’t hesitate to leap forward at them, grabbing the gun out of White Rabbit’s hands, swinging it at both of them. He hears a wet crack, but isn't wholly sure who he’s hit until White Rabbit cries out. “My nose!” 

Coldheart tries to take the gun from him, but he smacks her soundly under the chin with it making her stumble backwards into White Rabbit. The two topple over into each other with mixed shouts and swearing. They are a tangle limbs and outfits catching on each other.

He breaks the gun clean in half before he takes off again into the night. He can hear them yelling after him, but he keeps moving. He doesn’t even notice the actual incline downwards until he’s skidding down the dirt and snow. He loses his footing entirely and tumbles until he hits the bottom. 

Peter just lays on the ground for a moment breathing hard as he looks back up from where he fell. The floodlights are illuminating where he was, but he’s cloaked in darkness again. His vision is decidedly thrown off again. 

Peter pauses, realizing that means White Rabbit and Coldheart will have the same issue if they come after him. He forces himself up, scooting backwards until his back is against the dirt wall of the hill. He makes himself as small as he can muster as Coldheart and White Rabbit skid down the hill, completely missing where he’s hiding. 

He shivers where he’s tucked just listening to the two run further away from him. They under estimated him, he has a strong feeling that isn't going to happen again.


End file.
